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| In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
The contributions in Reader #2 focus on the multifaceted realm of theory and discourses that shape and broaden our understanding of environmental learning, as well as how they have shaped hands-on formats, methodologies, and “concept-tools” for action (Frichot 2016).
A recurrent topic in contemporary educational, cultural, and societal discourses concern the need for different literacies. The following contributions see spatial literacy and climate literacy as part of an education in sustainability and the environment. Originally used in relation to reading, writing, and the ability to identify, understand, interpret, create, exchange, and use communicative tools, the concept has since expanded to encompass visual literacy, media literacy, AI literacy, and even civic literacy, among others. The importance of bringing this concept to discussions about environmental pedagogies becomes clear with UNESCO’s definition, which connects literacy to democratic values: “Literacy involves a continuum of learning in enabling individuals to achieve their goals, to develop their knowledge and potential, and to participate fully in their community and wider society” (UNESCO 2017). Literacies entail a combination of multiple ways of communicating and making meaning, including such modes as visual, audio, spatial, behavioral, and gestural (New London Group, 1996).
In her contribution, Anna Keune gives three recommendations for the design of learning spaces. She notes that despite the charge to serve all people, fields within the built environment struggle with gender- and race-related discrimination and inequalities. Therefore, broadening participation and promoting parity among diverse groups of people within the built environment is an important concern that, as she argues, needs to be addressed when designing learning environments that recognize a wide range of cultural practices and acknowledge a variety of people as legitimate contributors. In the three recommendations for the design of learning environments that have implications for the design and implementation of curricula and pedagogical practices in built environment education, Anna discusses ways to achieve equities in built environments fields, including strategies such as “designing for material diversity,“ “designing for recognition” and “designing for empathy.” Anna shows how these recommendations can enhance participation in the built environments sector.
In the contribution by Marta Brkovic Dodig, Angela Million, and Rosie Parnell, Built Environment Education (BEE) is characterized as an evolving but still fragmented field. The authors identify a need to establish a shared framework, fostering collaboration, and advancing BEE as a recognized educational discipline. Through interviews with BEE practitioners within various institutional settings, internal workshops, as well as document analysis and a literature review, BEE situates itself within a broader educational framework. An important contribution and achievement in establishing the field was the mapping of the pedagogical underpinnings, including its concepts and methodologies, presenting BEE as “Pedagogies of Space.” A forthcoming handbook—Built Environment Education for Children and Youth: Establishing the Field—captures and synthesizes the findings of the study, seeking to learn from, and to bring together, the ever-growing global BEE community.
How can children and young people, who are at the center of our efforts and activities when working in the field of environmental learning, be included, regardless of our diverse roles as educators, architects, artists, or urban planners? Today many young people express fears and concerns about climate change and its effects. How can we inspire them to mobilize climate action? Claudia Carter and Simeon Shtebunaev collaborated with thirteen teenagers in Birmingham, aged 14–18, with the aim of engaging young people in climate literacy and action guided by the notion of “think global, act local.” Inspired by an action-research approach, they applied a STEAM and Design-Thinking infused co-design method, working with young people to explore climate change realities at a local scale. The key output was the playable board game “CLIMANIA: The Climate Action Game,” which focused on adaptations within an urban sustainability context. The game has since been used as a tool for education in formal and informal settings, for engagement, advocacy, discussion, action-informing, and as a professional development tool.
Hannah Klug puts forward a “Pedagogy of Resonance” as a spatial framework to explore informal urban settlements in Lima as learning spaces that form between communities and their environments. She discusses “resonances” through the work of the Peruvian student collective IntuyLab, that initiated a long-term participatory design project to build a community center in the Alto Perú neighborhood, of which she was part of. Hannah’s contribution recognizes the geographical situatedness of discourses that engage with the exploration of theoretical perspectives and debates in the understanding of environmental learning from diverse cultural standpoints. In a crises-ridden world, she argues that architecture offers the potential to foster critical and inclusive spatial practices for future generations. Her contribution shows how working in collaboration with informal neighborhoods can transform architecture education.
John Wood offers “Fields of Play” as an urban concept and “instrument” for environmental designers, enabling identification, the acquisition of social skills, and sensitivities for diverse societies. Fields of Play are hereby characterized as ephemeral, fluid, spatio-temporal, and ambiguous spaces that invite play. Through the case study “La Friche” in Marseille, John discusses the example of the public square, Platforme, designed by ARM Architecture, as a possible space of encounter with curated and unprogrammed spaces and elements, where children can play by day, while adults can listen to music at night. Conceptually, “Fields of Play” depart from the thinking of social spaces as fixed categories, or for prescribed uses and users, but rather as spaces capable of provoking chance encounters across different generations and diverse social groups, encouraging relationships within and across them.
At the Learnings/Unlearnings conference Claudia Carter and Emma Jones invited the participants to join a workshop to explore how the use of STEAM methods can facilitate discussions and ideations among staff and students in environmental and sustainability education (the authors took part in the workshop!). Carter and Jones argue that adding the A (for Arts) to STEM (Sciences, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) opens for transdisciplinary pedagogies and new ways for students and teachers to become more applied, multi-skilled, and holistic in their inquiry and creations. Taking the participants’ own knowledge and understanding as a starting point, the workshop enabled us to experience a STEAM approach in practice. The workshop included a warming-up and a mind mapping exercise that created a platform for self-reflection, sharing experiences, and the development of ideas for advancing environmental and climate literacy in our local educational settings.
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